


Conversation

by Fox_the_Hermit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Gen, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8364373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_the_Hermit/pseuds/Fox_the_Hermit
Summary: A year after being incarcerated, the prophesied saviour is visited by his old headmaster, but he is no longer the same child that the old man remembered him as.





	

Hey there, Dumbledore.

Came to see me at last? Finally realised I’m not guilty, have you? It’s been… what, a year? Two? Keeping track has been ever so hard, and my friend in the cell to the left has been here so long he’s forgotten. Or maybe never bothered to keep track in the first place. Hard to tell with him.

Your robes look atrocious, by the way. I don’t think you could colour-coordinate to save your life.

Hm. You seem surprised by my sanity and calmness. And still being here, not having escaped, not having taken this place over.

What were you expecting, exactly? Tell me. Or no, let me guess.

To find me gone, actually out in the real world fighting Voldemort through subterfuge? A bitter but unbroken hero, force of light or balance, working against the dark and ultimately forgiving of all the friends who betrayed me?

By the way, that batch of traitorous carrots, how are they doing? I’ve dreamt that the paired ones died with their intestines ripped out and their limbs chopped off. Was that just a dream, or a vision from Voldemort? I couldn’t tell at the time. And what about little Ginevra? Did that ferret of bad faith really gut her in Diagon Alley, while Voldemort slaughtered his way through the Aurors?

Ah, it was true. Well, I did _wonder_ ~ You see, _no one_ came to visit me all year. Does my fake puzzlement sound convincing? No? Anyway, no way of getting outside news in this place, so thank you for telling me.

You are surprised by my lack of sadness? You shouldn’t be. I am utterly indifferent to those who threw me to rot here, all those perfidious hounds of yours. Not dear Neville or darling Luna or faithful Hermione of course, but _they_ were not at fault for my incarceration. In fact, if I remember clearly, they were under house arrest the entire time before and after the trial.

Fat lot of good it did them when Voldemort, Bellatrix and their entourage showed up. Seeing them slaughter her, her husband and Greyback… that was rather fun, actually. All that blood was pretty, though I got ever so sad when my friends got cut down from behind for using all the magic they could think of.

‘All’s fair in love and war’. Even Dark Magic, Headmaster. Pass on my regards to Shacklebolt and Tonks, will you? ‘Satan knows where you’ll die, and his minions are never late.’ That’s something I learned from a friend. I HOPE THEY ROT THERE! Hahaha~

Or did you expect to find me king of this fucking place through a series of impossible coincidences? Ruling over the dementors through an unknown heritage? Sorry to disappoint you, but I am simply a Potter and a Peverell. Nothing to do with this prison.

Perhaps you thought I’d discover the ‘power he knows not’. Well, that didn’t happen either. Magically, I am far weaker now than I was before, and have no new skills to offer you. I’d be utterly useless on the battlefield or in any fight. I have to feed my neighbour magic, you know. The guards don’t notice him, and his princess is often hungry. She’s rather terrifying, actually. I’m pretty sure a Dementor got eaten when it got too close, and the black blood splattered all over the walls was gorgeous! And her red eyes are beautiful, even though they mean death. My neighbour can't understand how I tolerate her, but maybe he's just too close to the problem to see its beauty.

What was I talking about? Ah, I was discussing what you could have found here. Schrodinger’s Wizard, wasn’t that the topic of this conversation? Until you came here, you couldn’t know what was true. Yet I already knew how I was. I am aware, thus I already made the observation, thus the state was already determined… so was this a Schro-

Never mind. I’ll ponder this later, if I ever remember. Or maybe I’ve already spoken about it at the tea party that was Halloween. Huh.

When I got here, I would’ve put my money on me being either comatose, vegetative, like the Longbottoms, or utterly crazy, like Luna. Maybe that last part’s true though. I’m not sure I am as sane as I think, but there’s little to compare myself to. Well, I am still saner than I expected to be, though almost completely powerless. Everything here leeches magic, and preserving my sanity was more important.

I was very lucky though, not to end up _completely_ insane. You know that guy I mentioned a while ago? In the cell neighbouring mine? He helped me stay - relatively - sane, though he’s lost all of his marbles. Or maybe shattered them. He’s the quiet kind of crazy, the I-hate-myself, depressed, guilty and occasionally manic type. Very interesting views on life and death, he has, and an unusual perspective on things in general. He could give Luna a run for her money… Oh right. She died. Sorry, trailed off into my memories for a while.

Not much else to do here, usually. Especially when the Dementors come. Now _that_ is a time for introspection, I have to tell you. Nothing quite like endlessly reliving and analyzing the worst memories of your life for hours on end, until you’ve dealt with them, and the Dementors can’t use them for ammo.

My crazy friend, by the way, he’s here on vacation, apparently. I am being perfectly serious. Though not Sirius. I am neither an animagus, nor a Black, nor in St Mungo’s, keeping the Longbottoms company.

Don’t look at me so shocked, I did say my friend’s crazy. He does give excellent advice if you listen to him, despite being someone most people would not trust if their lives depended on it. However, all the best people are crazy, you know?

Dumbledore, did you I already tell you that if you come to terms with a painful memory by dwelling on it endlessly and discussing it with someone else, it fades? I think I did, but I can’t remember. Can’t remember how this conversation started, even. Just shards of glass and glittering gold. Ah, well. My memory will fix itself in a while. Honestly, I owe my neighbour my mind, even as broken as it is. He’s spent hours listening to me, helping me. Though I have to say, I would have prefered a therapist who wasn’t prone to occasional manic fits of laughter and energy. I’m sure he’s bipolar.

Also, did I mention he is dead? He’s some kind of ghost. Looks completely solid and walks through walls. The dementors still kind of affect him, apparently, but that’s why he came here. To work through his own issues, or die - again - trying. Weirdo~

His nightmares are awful, and the screaming… The Cruciatus can’t pull that out of a person. He doesn't sleep a lot, so I don't have to hear it very often. That's the worst thing now. Other than the food. I'm confident that it's just mould peeled off the walls and ladled into bowls.

Or maybe he’s a hallucination. No way to know, after all, but I’m pretty sure I could never have thought of all those sayings of his on my own. Perhaps it’s all in my head… But that doesn’t mean all that isn’t real. He did take over my body a couple of times though, when I got into panic attacks, so that I would not die. Did you know my heart almost failed a few dozen times?

You went rather pale right there, Professor. Are you alright?

Now, to business.

Dumbledore, what _are_ you here for? I’ve rather grown used to this place, I must say, and I am not entirely sure how to function in a normal society anymore. And as I probably already said, I can’t fight.

Oh? You want me to return to Hogwarts? And it’s only been a year… Felt like longer. And my hair’s all grey. Or blonde, it's so dirty I can’t tell. Would people recognise me, I wonder.

Yes? They will? You’ll tell them? But why? May I not live in peace? The only way I can fulfill the prophecy, is if I die at Voldemort’s hand. No way I can win against him, I’ll die before a single spell of mine hits him.

What are you going to do, Dumbledore? Your prophesied saviour can’t raise the blade to chop off the Jabberwocky’s head. How will you deal with the monster?

Oh. I won’t have a choice? I must leave? How sad. I will rather miss my friend, I think, unless he decides to leave and follow me. I’ll ask him a little later, when he’s no longer laughing and crying and screaming his unearned guilt for everyone to hear. It’s rather distracting to listen to, by the way. Couldn’t you silence it?

Silence everything?- ...

Why are you backing away?

Is there something wrong? Ah. My eyes must be red, like Voldemort’s. But if you pay close attention, then you’ll see they aren’t slitted. Excuse the princess. She gets ever so bored in my friend’s head that she sometimes uses my body, and you’re the most interesting thing to happen in months. She’s just watching.

What happens now, Dumbledore? What happens now? Are you going to kill me? Free me? Leave me and forget me, now that you have proof of my insanity?

Come now, tell me. After all, it’s _my_ future you are deciding.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah... Yeah, no idea what this is supposed to be. This is written on sleep deprivation and a deep bout of paralysing depression and listlessness that I'm trying to shake off. 
> 
> It's up to you to decide on what the neighbour is. I will not divulge which I decided on, unless asked very nicely. - Actually, can you tell me what you think he is? I'm curious.


End file.
